Event of the Season
by The Nearly Missed
Summary: High school AU. What if the reason I overreact to all of those rumors is because they're true? What if I really am gay? Well, I've got five weeks to find out.
1. Pre-Game Warm-Up

**A/N:** Hey all! May the fourth be with you. :3 (I may or may not have waited till now _just_ to make that joke.) Here it is: the moment you've all been waiting for. Two days after the first anniversary of the ending of my first story (yes, I keep track. ;)), comes the beginning of my next! Yes, this is the story I've been not-so surreptitiously foreshadowi-ng for almost a year now.

A few things about this story before I begin, though:

First and foremost, I do not own Death Note or any of the characters from the series. All rights reserved to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. I only take credit for my own OCs, some of which have appeared in my other stories.

This story includes a lot of mention/action involving the use of marijuana. Just keep in mind that these are the characters' opinions on the topic and not mine. So, be prepared for both, "420 blaze it" and "It's illegal for a _reason,"_ depending on the character. I'm not personally encouraging or discouraging anyone from smoking, nor am I insulting anyone who chooses (not) to.

Ages are reversed! Since Matt and Mello take senior year, other Wammy's kids will also be seniors. Kids from B's generation, including L, Light, Matsuda and others are all younger in this story. You'll figure it out if I've done my job right. ;)

Expect to see chapters once a week on Saturdays. :3

The M rating _will_ come into play. It may take a while, but it will. Also, I figure with the use of (mostly) illegal substances, I'd better be safe.

Last but _definitely _not least: Please review! :3 It takes but a minute, and they can be really helpful to let me know how I'm doing and how I can adjust my writing to better suit my intended audience.

Thank you all for reading, my lovelies!

-x-

"_Two outs, right to one, boys!"_ I screamed from behind the plate before squatting down to receive the next pitch.

_Snap._ From windup to pitch, the ball could barely be seen between Gevanni's hand and my padded glove. "Strike three! Batter's out!"

The audience watching Wammy High's fourth baseball game of the season went wild, and everyone cheered. The Labradors won easily with a score of twelve to nothing. I, acting as both team captain and All-Star catcher, made some pretty bitching plays that held the Eagles down to zero. With my lethal throw down to second, they never even made it to third.

Pats on the back went around as usual. Our rather bored outfielders trotted in, glad to be able to sit down instead of standing out there watching the infield's play after play.

I took off my catcher's helmet. Might I just say _damn _it gets sweaty under there. I ran my hand through my blonde hair that was drenched in sweat, slicking what fell out of my ponytail away from my face. Somebody handed me my water bottle and I downed about a quarter of it. We went through the line, slapping the hands of the other team. "Alright, guys, right field," I called out to everybody before they got to packing up their gear. The whole team complied, and circled around, everyone taking respective sitting, standing, or lounging positions in the grass.

I dropped my glove on the ground. "We're looking good out there. Outfield, turn and run, don't try to backpedal. You scared us all there for a minute with that, Mikami," Our dark-haired right fielder nodded, looking at the grass. "And make sure, _everybody call the ball._ L, you nearly bowled Light over on that high infield fly." The third baseman smirked, and the brown-haired shortstop glared at him. "Right. Other than that, nice hitting. Work on your delayed steals—we may need to manufacture a few runs for this season. The other teams are in their prime."

As I spoke, I could see Roger Ruvie, the Labradors' coach saunter up beside me. "Nice game, everyone. Listen to Mello, especially you freshmen," He looked around the circles. No questions or comments. Ruvie clapped. "Right then. Practice tomorrow, usual time. See you all then."

The team dispersed. I watched everyone leave, one by one, till only Coach and I were left from the team.

As we were walking up to the road, I saw Linda standing on the sidewalk, looking around as if searching for someone. She had watched the game, ogling over our second baseman Near all the while. I sidled up behind her, waving as Coach got in his car. My bag hit the pavement. "Hey, Linda. You got a ride?"

Linda was your average art dork. She was also a senior, like me, but she'd always had a different schedule than mine. We'd spoken plenty of times, as she was in the psych class I liked to pop in on and assist during my free periods. She was a bit eccentric, as was everyone at Wammy Middle High School, but we'd had our share of nice chats.

"Hey Mello. Uh, Matt was supposed to come pick me up so we could hang, but he's late..." She scoped the parking lot once more, but Matt's Chevy was nowhere in sight.

I knew Matt. Hell, I more than knew him—he was my best friend. I use that term loosely, though. It's not exactly great for the Varsity baseball team captain to be known as the resident stoner's best friend. Rumors around Wammy's Middle/High School spread as quickly as any place. The fact that each student's IQ was upward of 160 has nothing to do with the speed and looseness of their mouths. This being such, I've heard anything under the sun about us—I'm as big a pothead as he is, Matt does more than just weed and tobacco cigarettes, I'm his dealer. Hell, I've heard plenty of people say we're _gay._

_And, _as catcher for the baseball team, you can imagine I'm the butt of the gay jokes from newbies. My shoulder-length blonde hair doesn't exactly help my cause. "_Oh, Mello's a catcher in more than one way, if you know what I mean. He likes it up the butt." _I can't tell you how many times I've heard that one. But trust me; they learn _very _quickly not to say that, mainly because of my impeccable talent of being able to _aim_ my hits.

The first time our shortstop Light was on the team when he was only an eighth grader on JV and I was a freshman—holy crap, that was three years ago already—he called me gay. Once. After that, every line drive I hit during practice sailed right toward him. It wouldn't have been as bad, if he could have actually fielded back then. But alas, he couldn't. I do believe I recall breaking his hand in two places with an especially hard hit caught the wrong way, and he was out for the rest of that season.

Did I mention I have anger issues?

In any case, people have learned.

Although recently—_and nobody knows this, so don't go starting more rumors—_I've been wondering if the only reason I "overreact" toward those accusations is because they're true. On my side, anyway. Maybe I do like guys. Maybe I think of my best friend Matt as more than just a best friend. I'm not quite sure myself, and there's abso-fucking-lutely nothing wrong with that. But one thing is dead wrong about those rumors: Even if I _was_ gay, I'd be the pitcher.

Linda scratched at her wrist. I leaned back against the railing separating the sidewalk from a sharp ravine leading into the woods behind the field. "I thought you were a smart girl, Linda."

She raised an eyebrow at me. "What are you saying?"

"One doe_s _not simply _hang _with Matt Jeevas and not get high."

"Why not? You do. Unless you really _are_ a pothead," she shot back, rolling her eyes at me.

I set my chin. "Point taken," She was sharp and didn't miss much. "Still. Don't go get baked. I don't care what your little art-oriented brain comes up with while high. It's not worth the brain cells."

Linda nodded absently to get me off her back and pulled out her cell phone. I heard Matt's voicemail on the line: "You're calling—you know who this is, you know what to do." She hung up as the robotic female voice began to instruct her on how to leave a message.

"So do you need a ride over there or what?" I asked persistently, holding the "School Zone" sign to keep my balance on the railing.

Of course, at that moment, the cherry red Chevy pulled up, radio blasting. There was a visible haze in the window. Linda opened the door and I swear, had I not put my cap over my mouth and nose, I probably would have been high in one breath. "Ah, no," I said, kicking the door closed from behind Linda before she could get in. I jumped off the rail and moved around to Matt's side to pull him out of the car. "You're fucking stoned. Like hell you're driving."

My "best friend" looked at me from behind his trademark orange goggles with that _what the fuck_ look. He pulled the key from the ignition and allowed me to drag him out of the driver's seat. He leaned against his now closed car door, totally inattentive and chilled. "How the fuck did you even make it here? You're toasted beyond all recognition."

"Oh yeah, I know," He said with a sniff. I slapped my palm to my face. "What do you want?"

I tried not to slap him. "Matt. Your eyes are barely open. Your car _and_ your goggles are fogged up," I snapped them from his face, releasing a tiny puff of smoke. It took him almost a full second to realize my hand was in his face and he swatted me away. "Your reaction time _sucks._"

It was like I never even said anything. "I want Cheez-Its. Lend me five bucks?"

I just rolled my eyes. "You two are coming with me. Leave this smoke bomb of a car here," I pried the keys from Matt's hand and locked up his car. Luckily, he had at least somewhat managed to stop in a parking space. I beckoned Linda, who stood there, face flushed, and she followed me to my own car—a crappy little blue sedan. I tossed my bag in the trunk as the ginger slid lazily into the front seat, and the younger dirty blonde sat awkwardly in the back. I pulled out of the baseball field's parking lot.

I glanced in the rear view mirror at Linda. "You still want to go to his place?" I jerked one thumb to Matt staring serenely out the window before returning my hands to the wheel and eyes to the road.

She didn't make eye contact with me, and instead observed the stitching of the seat beside her. "No, I just remembered I have theater later anyway. Could you bring me home?"

"Good choice."

With a few additional directions to refresh my memory, I stopped in front of Linda's house. She took up her bag on her shoulder and finally looked at me. "Thanks." With nothing more, she ran up her driveway and disappeared into her home.

I looked at Matt. "What am I going to do with your ass?"

He looked right back at me. "Get me some Cheez-Its?" He grinned cheekily at me.

My self-control flew out the window and I slapped him so hard his goggles landed on the dashboard.

"Hey, what was that for?" He lunged for his goggles and held them close.

"For being an idiot. And my best friend."

"Oh, okay." Strapping the orange lenses back over his bloodshot blue eyes, he crossed his arms and leaned his head against the window. He mumbled, almost inaudibly, "I'm tired."

"Not my problem," I clicked my tongue and pulled a U-turn, back in the direction of Matt's house. We sat in silence. I pulled the rest of the package off my chocolate-scented air freshener. "You reek of marijuana."

Again, he didn't care much. He only drawled slowly, "I know."

By the time I got across town to where Matt lived, he was dead asleep. I growled to myself before punching him in the shoulder. He jolted from his cannabis-induced slumber. "You're home. Go in there, change your clothes, use your eye drops, and smash your bong before your mom gets home. You'll be a much better person afterward."

"Weed never killed anyone," Matt reasoned with a shrug.

"No, but I'm going to if you don't stop smoking it," I cracked my knuckle against the steering wheel.

He sighed and blinked tiredly as he dragged himself out of the car and into a standing position. "What about my car?"

"Take the bus to school tomorrow then drive home. Simple enough," I suddenly wished I kept a bottle of Febreze in my car. Mental note to self.

Matt nodded and turned to leave. "Hey wait—" I caught his attention just before he slammed my passenger door shut. He looked at me absently, and whatever I was about to say or do completely escaped me. Charismatic as I was, even I felt awkward staring at his goggled eyes, if only for a few seconds. Fried as he was, those eyes still set my pulse racing. "Keys." I glanced down where his keys were sitting in the cup holder. _Oh._ I tossed them to him.

"Thanks. Bye."

I watched him into his house before returning silently to my own house. I slumped in the driver's seat for a moment. If those rumors were true and I _was_ gay… I shook my head. It was beyond weird thinking that _I_ of all people liked guys and not the bunch of girls who are for some reason or another attracted to me. But I wouldn't be completely truthful if I said I didn't find Matt attractive in the least. Just ask my still-racing heart rate. Some things were alluring about that boy, but I couldn't let anyone else know I thought that.

My dad pulled in the driveway behind me, coming home from work. I slapped the confusion from my face and got out of my car. I greeted my father and we walked into the house together, where dinner was already steaming and ready to eat.

"Did you win?!" My annoying little energy ball of a sister bounced in her seat at the kitchen table.

"Yeah, Elsie. Twelve to zero," I remembered I was in my uniform and retreated to my room to change.

I whipped off my shirt and glanced at myself in the long mirror on the back of my door. _Muscles, dirt, and sweat..._ I ran a hand across my flat abdominals, examining the way my muscles seemed to ripple beneath my skin. _Or…_ _breasts, cleanliness, and softness? _I rubbed my face with both of my hands before tugging on a plain black T-shirt and a pair of plaid sleep pants.

Maybe I was too afraid of what people would think of me if I was gay. I'd get no respect from the team unless I scared it into them. Even then, they'd still make jokes behind my back. I'd need that devotion and respect from them if we were going to get through this season and come out champions. I'd also be out of high school and on my way to Lawliet University soon. Maybe _then…_

No. By then, Matt will have moved out of his parent's home and into some big city where he can get cheap weed and good-paying hacking jobs. I'd have to try to make a move before graduation, which was rapidly approaching. Now, how to do that without anyone else knowing…

My thoughts were interrupted by a dinner call from my mom. "Yeah, I'm coming." Pulling the hair tie from my hair as I jogged down the stairs, I joined my straight and completely devout Catholic family who believed being gay was a sin for supper.

_Bring it on._


	2. Top of the First

**A/N: **Happy Saturday! I want to thank everyone for the reviews and faves and follows from just the first chapter! I didn't think this story would really attract all that much attention. I'm also sorry I haven't been able to reply to any reviews. I've been pretty busy lately and I haven't been able to find much time to. I hope I don't disappoint!

So, here you are, chapter number two!

* * *

-x-

* * *

School the next day went as usual. Rather boring. I studied my ass off in order to ace my calculus test. Why anybody would need that shit in life is beyond me. You know, other than, oh, say, a calculus teacher. All the while, though, I couldn't help but glance at Matt out of the corner of my eye in every one of our mutual classes. Which was most of them, save for Business.

He didn't notice. I _would_ say he was too high, but even Matt's smart enough not to push the administration just before graduation. He'd come into school high only once before as a sophomore, and that ended him up with a two-week suspension and a two_-month_ grounding.

Much to my chagrin, one single person noticed how distracted I was: Near. Of course, it _had _to be him.

Physically, Near didn't seem to pose much of a threat. He was one of the shortest people I know, as he was barely five feet tall at seventeen years old. Not only that but had his eyes not been the dark gray they are, I'd have suspected him of being an albino. He looked like a sheep. He _always _wore white pajamas. His hair was that snowy white that some people mistook for bleached blonde, and his skin was like porcelain.

May I just point out that "porcelain" is often used to describe or refer to toilets? I think it's quite appropriate.

While he looks like some albino kid, apparently, there's nothing genetically abnormal about him. He was just a creepy looking fuck with child-like habits. And when I say child-like habits, I mean he plays with toys_._ He almost always has some sort of action figure or doll with him. Matt once wondered aloud if he had some sort of fetish. That's what I was going with from that point on. But he also liked to twirl his hair around one finger, something I'd only ever seen young grammar school girls do.

But the one thing about him that really makes me hate his guts is the fact that as of right now, he's the valedictorian for our class, as well as president of student council. The fucking sheep's grade point average is three _hundredths_ of a point higher than mine. If he wasn't so much of a smug little bastard about it, it wouldn't bug me as much. But how he acts toward me doesn't change the fact that I was pissed when I found out he had slipped ahead of me when he first moved here.

And so, since the fifth grade, the second baseman of my baseball team has been the scourge of my school days. I promised myself that one day I would exceed him, but I haven't yet. That's my goal for finals. Beat Near. And oh, I _will._

Oh, and he's gay. Legitimate, out-of-the-closet, flamboyant as shit gay. Linda still has hope that she can get in his pants, but the only pants he wants to get into are Gevanni's—and mine.

This all being true, you can imagine how miffed I was when the kid slid his tray onto the table beside me at lunch and asked me in his monotone voice, "What's on your mind? You've been awfully distracted today."

I took a bite of what seemed to pass as a chicken patty sandwich, shaking my head. "Nothing," I mumbled.

"Mello, how you expect me to believe that?"

"I expect you to believe me because it's true. We've just got a lot of games coming up that we can't afford to lose," I resorted to our common baseball team, hoping he wouldn't pick up on anything else. I'd like to think I was a pretty good actor, and most of the time it paid off.

This was one of those times. "Don't worry about that. Our team is very well off this year. With you behind the plate, we'll easily make it through undefeated," He scooted closer to me and I shot him a look. His shoulder touched mine. "You're an excellent catcher."

I pushed him away, horrified. "God, Near. You are _shameless."_ I stood and stalked away to clear my place. Cafeteria food wasn't any good, anyway.

_Strike one._

I dragged myself through the final two periods of the day—one of which was free of Matt and therefore allowed me to actually think beyond how I'm going to tell him I think I'm gay. The other, however, was a very small class of only eleven of us: Philosophy. Near, Matt, Gevanni and I all sat at the same table. I knew it'd be hell, but it was more... awkward, than I had expected.

Matt, without thinking about what he was saying at all, said, "Hey Mello, thanks for taking me home last night. I owe you one." Misa sitting at the table behind us giggled, and I almost reacted.

"Not a problem."

"Did Matt and Mello have a fun time last night?" Near asked, his immaturity rearing its ugly head. He didn't even look at me; he was too busy gazing at Gevanni beside him and fingering the fabric of his jeans. Gevanni barely paid him any attention, and merely read on, getting a head start on the English homework for the night. I made a gagging motion to Matt and he chuckled. I smirked.

Matt stretched his arms upward with a yawn. "Oh yeah, we had _tons_ of fun," He purred, dropping his arm around my shoulders beside him. Did I just get fucking yawn-and-reached? Eh, what did I care? It was Matt.

"If by 'fun' you mean keep you from getting yourself into a car crash, then yes," I shrugged his arm off my shoulders. "By the way, remember you're eighteen now." I narrowed my eyes at him as I drew my notebook from my backpack.

"What…?" He gave me a confused look before it registered. "Oh, Linda? Dude, we were just gonna get blasted and play Super Mario Galaxy 2. I'm not gonna fuck her."

"Good." I cheered in my head at my slight victory: Linda was no longer a threat. Or at least, not as much.

He checked a text message on his phone under the table. "Yeah, but my mom was wondering where my car was. It's kind of hard to explain that I left it up to the roof in smoke in the school parking lot because I was baked around a semi-responsible friend."

"So what'd you tell her?" I knew he couldn't have told her the whole story. After his coming into school high fiasco, if he was caught with even a _nanogram_ of weed, he'd be grounded till he was thirty. I knew Mrs. Jeevas, and she generally didn't screw around. Only the fact that Matt was the second-to-last kid of the rather large family allowed him to pretty much do as he pleased without much of a second thought from anyone else—except me, that is. I was somewhat glad though, knowing that even Matt knew I was the "semi-responsible friend."

Matt shrugged. "Told her I left it at your house, since I had a drink or two. She'd rather hear I was drunk than high." He stowed his phone in his pocket. "Which, doesn't really doesn't make all that much sense. Intoxicated is intoxicated is intoxicated."

"At least you got by without much suspicion." I flipped open my notebook as Mr. Pirro walked into the classroom, late as usual. Matt nodded with a raise of his eyebrows.

And so, that class dragged by, all the while thinking about the admittedly adorable redhead sitting barely a foot away from me. Needless to say, my notes were pretty crappy.

I was extremely thankful, however, when the bell finally rang and school was out. This gave me a reprieve from the distracting Matt, but also left me alone for a moment with Near when Gevanni slipped off to finish that calculus test earlier. I silently cursed him for arriving late to school.

And so Near started hitting on me… again.

"So, do you actually have sexual relations with Matt?" He asked as we stepped into the locker room.

Okay, I admit, I wasn't expecting _that_ curve ball. "Hell, no," I threw my bag into my locker, extracting a pair of shorts and a T-shirt for practice. "That's like asking if you're straight."

"No need to insult my sexuality, now," He said, dropping his white pants right there. I rolled my eyes at him. "Although, you seem to need to get in touch with your own. Are you still a virgin, by any chance?"

Damn that kid. I swear, he had the impeccable talent of asking me just the wrong questions at just the wrong time. My shirt was halfway over my head and I barely gave a pause. He picked up on it. "Ah, so that's a yes?"

I threw my balled-up polo at him. "It's not a crime or anything to be ashamed of, fucktard."

"I never said it was," He pulled his own white basketball shorts on. "I was just curious if you'd like me to change that."

"Ugh!" I wrinkled my nose and I swear, had Beyond not walked in at that moment, I definitely would have decked him and told everyone he ran into a locker.

Instead, our tall first baseman—not to mention one of my closer friends of the team—stepped between us, where his own locker was located. Those unsettling red-amber eyes darted between us. "Am I interrupting something here?"

I gritted my teeth and turned back to my locker. "Just Near being the creepy little fag he is," I said, T-shirt muffling my voice as I tugged it on. "Remember what I said about you being shameless? Yeah, you're never losing that title now."

"So be it."

"Near, stop being gay," Beyond countered in his cool manner. "Nobody wants your dick."

_Strike two._

I guess Gevanni only had a question or two left to finish, because he walked around the corner at that moment. Near unbuttoned his shirt, a slight grin playing on his usually tight-lipped mouth. "I wouldn't be so sure."

Gevanni was lost. "I don't wanna know."

"You're right, you don't." I finished changing and slipped out to the field ahead of everyone.

I passed by Matt, who was lounging in his Chevy with the door wide open, playing some handheld video game. "Airing out?" I asked, slowing beside the car.

He looked up. "Yeah."

"So, are you going to quit smoking that crap?"

"Hell no. I'm just gonna stop driving when I do."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Whatever. It's your life. Fuck it up as you wish," I waved a hand behind me as I continued down to the field.

Matt stood up on the edge of the car and leaned over the roof. "YOLO!" I didn't look back, but I could hear him laugh, hop into the driver's seat, and leave the parking lot.

In small groups, the team began to arrive. We were already into drills when Coach finally showed up. I handed the bat off to him and stopped at the bench to pull my hair back in order to put helmet on. When I came back out, we started a real-time game situation. The outfield and extras batted first. All went smoothly… of course, until the rotation brought Near up to the plate.

That kid was, without a doubt, the bane of my existence.

"Hey Mello," he said, adjusting his batting gloves.

"One out, play to one, watch the runner on two," I called to my team, completely ignoring the sheep.

He stepped into the batter's box to my left. "Would you like to make plans with me later?" He swung and tipped the ball into my glove.

"Nope. Pay attention and hit." The ball sailed back to Gevanni.

He shifted his grip on the bat. "Are you sure?"

A nice pitch clipped the high inside corner of the strike zone. Near held back a swing. Ruvie behind the fence yelled, "Strike!"

"Very." _Snap._

Gevanni began his windup. "Fine, stay a virgin."

That made me zone out for almost a full millisecond before the _ting_ of baseball on metal bat woke me from my momentary trance. I watched the ball sail straight up and I threw my helmet to the ground to see. "I got it." It dropped effortlessly into my glove.

I threw the ball back to the pitcher and glared at Near. He simply looked at me over his shoulder with that creepy thing he called a smile and a wink before disappearing into the dugout. I shook my head, readying myself for the next batter.

It's high time he learns.


	3. Bottom of the First

Alas, right then was not the time for Near to learn.

Practice eventually ended and I had some time before I was due home for dinner. It being a gorgeous Thursday afternoon toward the end of April, I decided to drop my junk in the back of my car and drive down to Matt's. I called him as I drove.

"Hello?" For once, he didn't sound high.

"Hey Matt. Mind if I drop by for a while? I've got a couple hours to kill."

There was some sort of shuffling on the line before he answered, "Yeah, totally. You know this is your second home. You don't have to ask anymore," I could hear him flop on his bed.

"Yeah, I know," I turned toward his house down in the middle of nowhere. "I still like to ask, though. You know, that crazy thing called manners?"

He snorted. "What the fuck are those?"

I chuckled back. "They're very rare nowadays. Usually, you only see them in either devout religious families such as my own, or people who just want their kids to be raised correctly."

"Oh, so that's why I don't have any…"

We chatted back and forth for the few minutes as I drove. It was meaningless spiel, just words to take up the time until I arrived. "I'm in your driveway," I alerted him as I pulled onto the cobblestone drive.

"I fear for my general well-being."

"Get in the bunker—the zombies are coming."

"Fuck you, Mel, don't joke about the zombies!" He hung up on me.

I sniffed at him and dropped my phone into my pocket. I jogged up the stairs of his porch and knocked on the door. Mrs. Jeevas answered after a moment and greeted me warmly with a hug. "Hello, Mello! Matt's upstairs, as usual. Luke just put a couple of pies in the oven for a bake sale, and we made an extra for us. Want us to call you in when they're ready?"

"Sure thing, Morgan." I had to admit, Matt's little brother make bitching pies. I smiled at his mom before kicking off my cleats and jogging up the hardwood stairs. I turned down the hall and stopped at the first door. The brown wood was layered in miscellaneous signs, stickers, and labels, most of which had something about Matt or his other nicknames on them.

I pushed it open. Matt was where I expected him to be: lounging on his bed with an Xbox controller in his hands. He didn't break his concentration on the screen mounted on the wall, but managed a dim, "Hey."

"Hey yourself." I plopped down onto his black overstuffed bean bag chair. "More Call of Duty?"

"Yep."

I watched his character move around and shoot player after player, each one displaying a new kill streak. It was up in the thirties by the time the game was over. His team had won, obviously. He turned off the game system and tossed the controller to the foot of his bed. He looked at me. "What's up?"

"Making plans for the apocalypse in my head. You're on my gunman team." My comment earlier got me thinking about that.

He smirked. "And you'd be my strategist. And you're good with a bat and your fists, if it ever comes to hand-to-hand combat. Trust me, I've got my team all set up by now," He dropped his heavy black boots to the ground. Why he'd voluntarily put his filthy feet on top of his bed was beyond me. But he didn't seem to be taking them off any time soon—actually, he was grabbing his vest. I guessed we were going outside.

Sure enough, he asked, "Hideout?"

Matt's hideout wasn't what you would normally expect. Although, when one says "hideout," I'm not quite sure what to imagine. In any case, it sure as hell isn't a tree house in the middle of the woods. Nonetheless, it's just as crazy to us eighteen-year-olds as to when we were six. We're just used to it.

It's a basic tree house: wooden platform with anchors on the four trees at the four corners. There was a shingled roof stretching above it. The sides were made up of half-walls that connected at regular intervals with the ceiling. We had installed windows a while back to protect the contents of the hideout during bad weather. There were shelves built into each of the corners with miscellaneous junk Matt kept up there. It had the stereotypical locking floor latch that leads to a ladder attached to one of the tree trunks. _And_, over the years, we've loaded it with furniture, consisting of a ratty old corduroy couch, a table and a couple of folding chairs, a coffee table, and another pair of end tables. We've even got a nice rug in there. But it was settled a good twenty feet in the air, and when the door was locked, it was nearly impossible to infiltrate without Matt's key.

We've spent up to a week out there at a time, only returning to the house for food and certain bathroom breaks.

Now that I'm beginning to see Matt… in a different light, so to speak, I wish we could go back to those lazy summers and do that all over again. Hell, even if I _wasn't_ gay, I still miss it. We'd just sit here and talk, nap, play cards, chess, checkers, trivial pursuit—any and every game we collectively owned.

Now, he uses it as a smoke house. One shelf is full of bongs, another contains a gas mask. I'm one hundred percent positive he's got at least a half ounce of weed and a box of condoms stashed in various places. Although the games are still there, and are still played occasionally, they're no longer the pinnacle of activities in the hideout.

Call me sentimental, but I think growing up sucks.

So we went out to the hideout, where we employed Battleship nearly immediately. I sipped on a can of cherry coke he handed me on our way through the house.

He lit up a cigarette. "So what's up?" He asked me for the second time.

"Nothing but Near being fucking fag."

"He hitting on you again?"

"Again?" I hummed a confirmation. "More like _still."_ I sighed. "You don't know how many times over I want to punch that kid out. As soon as this season's over, the next time he flirts with me, he's going to have a broken nose and red pajamas... B7?"

"Miss." Matt leaned back and propped his boots up on the railing. We exchanged guesses in content silence for a few minutes.

Between turns, I looked at him. His eyes were focused on his laptop-like side of the Battleship board and appeared half-hooded behind his goggles. I couldn't help but think about the things I was kind of embarrassed to admit I wanted to do to him. This whole _not holding back my thoughts_ thing was awkward enough. But if I were to be _completely _honest with myself at that moment, I wished for nothing more than to lay one on him and join the "I've Been Fucked on Matt's Couch" club.

_Whoa._ That thought surprised even _myself. _Still, it wasn't a lie. I'm pretty sure "I think" just turned into "I am."

(For the record, I am not exaggerating. More people than I can think of off the top of my head have been drilled on that old sofa—and not necessarily all by Matt. His brothers were worse than he was. I wouldn't be at all surprised if someone actually did start a club like that.)

But that's beside the point. As if I hadn't been clear, Matt'd had his fair share of girls under his control. If I was going to pull this off, I'd have to ease into the idea of us being more than friends as slowly and comfortably as possible. I may just be tying my heart in knots for nothing, after all. That was probably the case. But I was going to try my best to pull my lifelong friend out of the closet I hoped he was in.

The game carried on. When I finally sank his carrier, Mat dropped his legs and sighed, smoke billowing from his nose. "Life sucks, then you die."

"What, because I fragged your frigate?"

"No, but _that's _why people call you gay."

I rolled my eyes at him. _So what if I am?_ I had to bite my tongue to keep from blurting it out. "Okay, life sucks. What else is new?"

He outright laughed at me. "Your life doesn't suck."

"Oh really?" I asked, bemused. I was genuinely interested in what he'd come up with.

"Come on, Mel," He began, rising from his seat. He folded his arms behind his head and turned halfway away, looking out at the forest over that infamous couch. "You've had a great life so far. For one, both of your parents are still alive."

He didn't need to remind me of his dad's death. I remembered it. It wasn't anything heartbreakingly and agonizingly slow; Mr. Jeevas had died in a car crash. It was sudden. Still, that didn't help ease any grief when he died when we were eleven. It just meant it took longer for the fact to sink in that Matt's dad was gone. He was revered as the sole executive carpenter of the hideout, and his name was carved into the wood around the railing: "In loving memory of Markus O. Jeevas. We love you, Dad," followed by each of the kids' names.

In fact, now that I thought about it, today was that day. _Oh. _That's probably what got Matt's mind working in the "I hate life" attitude. How could I have forgotten?

I bowed my head, conceding to that point and sending up a quiet prayer for his dad. He continued after the moment's pause, "You're the oldest of your family and only have one annoying sister instead of _four_. Your family is pretty much perfect. Your biggest addiction is chocolate," He played with the pack of cigarettes in his vest pocket. When he resumed, he turned back toward me. "You're the captain of the varsity baseball team _and_ you're number two at one of the most prestigious schools ever. You've got nothing to complain about."

I didn't know what to say. Not very often does that happen to me. I tried to open my mouth to say something, unknowing of what would come out, but he interrupted me. "I haven't done a single constructive thing in my life, and I'm probably not going to. _My _life sucks. Yours, not so much." He turned again and looked out to the woods. His fingers curled over the railing and traced out the letters of his father's name.

"You have no idea," I murmured under my breath. I was toying with telling him right there that I liked him, but I held myself back. I reminded myself that sudden was not the way to go with this mission. Slowly and steadily. But how would I do that with someone as carefree and cynical as Matt?

Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, the Song of Storms began to echo through the hideout. Matt drew his cell phone out of his pocket and answered it with a curt, "Yeah?" He listened for a moment before turning to me. "Pie's ready. Mia's home."

"Oh, shit," I mumbled. _Great. Mia. _I offered a feeble excuse to just drive away: "My mom's making dinner."

"Take a piece home with you."

Close enough.

I followed him down the ladder and jumped off a few feet from the ground. We tromped back through the woods, but he was silent. The reminder of his dad was enough to send him to another world—minus any illegal substances.

Now, I'm not cold-hearted, but I wasn't as affected by the seventh anniversary of Mark's death. Sure, I had loved him and missed him, too, but I'd accepted it. I guess it was different for Matt, though. I wouldn't really know; my dad's still alive and well, rarely as I see him.

When we entered his house once again, I was attacked from the side by a short ginger girl with a squeal: "Mello!"

I tried my best to pry her off of me. "Hi Mia."

Mia was Matt youngest older sister. She had always taken a bit of a liking to me, and being only a year and three months older than me, believed I was "totally dateable." When she went off to college last fall, I thought that would be the last of spontaneous tackle-hugs and squeals from her. I guess I was wrong.

"Oh, my god, you smell good," she sighed and stepped back. "As usual."

I raised an eyebrow and sniffed my shoulder. "I just came from practice," I stammered, "I'm—I'm smelly and gross."

She hummed at me. "Mm, that's not possible," she grinned and padded into the kitchen, where the scent of warm blueberry pie wafted through the air.

I looked to Matt. He facepalmed. "I hate her so much," he mumbled, watching his sister twirl back to me with a slice of pie. She handed it to me. Matt gaped at her. "So you get him a piece, but not your little brother?!"

"Um, yeah," she nodded, stealing a stray berry from my plate. I had learned long ago that her so-called "cuteness" only kicked in for me. She was as sassy as that cat from Homeward Bound to anyone else—especially Matt.

He rolled his eyes and retrieved his own piece from the youngest Jeevas. Luke was fourteen and almost as much of an overachiever as I was. He was president of the freshmen's student council. He was much quieter than any of his siblings around large groups of people, but he was a spoiled little brat. I guess that's what came with being the youngest in a family—Elsie was the same way.

I wrapped up my slice in plastic wrap and left it on the counter. A moment later, the five of us sat in the living room in various positions. Mia squeezed herself between Matt and me on the couch, much to my chagrin.

The annoyance grew when she dropped her head onto my shoulder, staring at her piece of pie. "I can't believe it's been this long already. I miss Dad," she murmured and pressed her head into my shoulder. I couldn't muster up the rudeness to nudge her off me when she said something like _that_, so I remained there, rather uncomfortable. I shifted.

"Me too, honey," Mrs. Jeevas said with a sigh.

"I miss his homemade doughnuts," Mia took a bite of her pie.

"I miss his woodworks." Luke spoke up.

"I miss our fishing trips." I glanced at Matt, remembering the times we were out on the lake with his father, how many fish were caught and grilled because of us.

"I miss our video game competitions." Matt grinned.

"I miss his hugs." Morgan sighed again, crossing her arms. We all nodded with various forms of agreement. I could hear the tears on the edge of her voice.

The mood was downcast. I looked over Mia at Matt. He met my eyes with a sad bounce of his eyebrows.

Only when the vibration of my cell phone echoed through the couch did Mia finally release me from her death grip. I fished it from my pocket and answered it, "Hello?"

"Hi. Are you coming home for dinner soon? It's a bit earlier than usual," My mom's voice asked from the other line.

I glanced at Matt, and my heart started again. It was aggravating how irresistible his deep blue eyes were, for the faintest of reasons. "Uh, yeah. I'm at Matt's place. I'll be home in ten, then." I hung up, looking back around the room. "Guess that's my cue to leave." I was thankful to _finally_ be able to stand up.

I scooped up my pie and stood by the door. "Thanks for the pie, Luke." I grinned and waved. "Seeya."

"Bye Mello!"

I didn't want to leave. What I really wanted to do was go back out to the tree house and tell Matt that I was gay and have him love me as much as I think I love him. I wanted to feel his arms around me. I wanted him to hug and kiss me like every girl he's ever taken home in his life. I wanted to be that person Matt wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

Instead, I left.

I think my chest finally stopped fluttering when I pulled into my driveway.

* * *

**A/N: **Happy Saturday! Sorry this one's a bit late; I have had a whirlwind of a day. I don't have much to say about this chapter, really, other than I hope you enjoyed it, and thank you for all the reviews, faves, and follows. :)

Thanks for reading!

~Rachel


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